


Imaginings

by sayasamax3



Category: Magi: The Labyrinth of Magic
Genre: Belly Dancing, M/M, Non-Consensual, Non-Penetrative Sex, Universe Alteration
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2013-06-04
Updated: 2013-06-04
Packaged: 2018-03-07 02:30:32
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Rape/Non-Con
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,736
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/3157826
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/sayasamax3/pseuds/sayasamax3
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>UA where somehow or other, the Balbadd arc goes very, very wrong and Alibaba ends up as spoils of conquest.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Imaginings

Sometimes, Kouen’s conquests come with little added bonuses.  Often they go unappreciated and as a whole they tend toward useless, but occasionally something will fall into his lap that at the very least has entertainment value.

It appears that Balbadd is to be one such conquest.      

When the third Saluja prince is thrown to him, the strings of beads hanging from his bedlah belt clinking as the boy stumbles in a failed attempt to keep his footing, Kouen is a little bewildered but not displeased.  Meeting his military goals always leaves him in a good mood, and if the boy’s pompous brother thinks offering Kouen the runt of the litter will persuade him to allow Ahbmad to maintain some semblance of status, well, Kouen hardly feels like correcting him just  _now_.

“Stand, and remind me of your name,” Kouen commands.

The blond draws himself up to his full height, his shoulders tense and his glare fiery.  Oh, but this one does stand apart from his brothers—a would-be threat, only he’s standing before Kouen stripped of everything but a dancer’s scant costume, and his fists tremble at his sides.

“Your name, boy,” Kouen repeats, when the boy gives him nothing but a stare. 

“Alibaba.”  

Kouen’s never really thought of himself as one to play with his food before eating it, but it’s hard to resist a target so easy and so worthy.

“And why have you been given to me?”

Alibaba’s jaw clenches and unclenches before he responds, “To dance.”

Well, it’s not like Kouen expected any other answer, though it’s surprising that a prince would have such a skill.  All the same, Kouen allows just a hint of his amusement to sneak into the curve of his lips as he says, “Then proceed.”

Even though there’s no music, Kouen can nearly  _see_ the rhythm Alibaba dances to, written in the delicate curving motions of his arms, the snap of his hips and the way motion seems to roll down his spine.   Light steps, the turn of an exposed ankle, the twinkling of the jewel that dangles from his navel—each entice Kouen just a bit more, and he’s not ashamed to admit that his mouth goes dry at the sight as his eyes follow the sway of the boy’s hips and the flickering of that jewel.

But the best part, Kouen thinks, is the way anger mixes with humiliation on Alibaba’s face, burning his cheeks a fetching red and keeping his eyes cast low, a parody of demure.  

Long minutes of artful twisting go by, yet Kouen finds himself still captivated long after the basic forms of the dance become familiar to him.  The allure is such that, when Alibaba’s routine seems to be winding down and that look of “ _finally, it’s nearly over_ ” crosses Alibaba’s face, Kouen demands he continue until told to stop.

Indignation flares in the young prince’s eyes and his every motion begins to project a certain aggression, incited by the apparent challenge.  This, Kouen likes more than the grudging submissiveness of before; he wants to build that fire up and watch it snuff itself out.  He hopes that takes a long, long time. 

This  _should_  have grown dull long ago, Kouen thinks a while later, when Alibaba’s arms have begun to tremble and his steps falter.  His patience wears thin, but he keeps his resolve firm, waiting for the moment when Alibaba’s legs give way before letting his self-control begin to do the same.

At Alibaba’s first fall, Kouen calls checkmate. 

“Stop,” he orders, his voice quiet but piercing in the silence of the palace’s meeting room.  “Come here.”

All the grace seems to leave Alibaba as he complies, trudging across the room before coming to a stop just outside of Kouen’s reach.  Kouen gives the boy an unamused stare, crooking one beckoning finger at him until Alibaba is standing close enough to touch.

“Kneel.”

Alibaba does not.

Well, Kouen thinks with a sigh, it’s only natural that the boy would start resisting at some point. 

“Kneel.”

“I won’t,” Alibaba responds, his voice adamant, “Even I have my pri—“

“Kneel because your good behavior is the only thing that might convince me to treat your worthless country with any mercy.”

Slowly, Alibaba kneels.

Kouen lets out an appreciative hum; Alibaba looks  _good_  between his legs, and Kouen thinks he’ll spend many a night indulging in the sight of him there.

It’s with a careful but firm hand that Kouen reaches out, taking hold of Alibaba’s chin and forcing the prince to look at him.  “You have a good face,” he murmurs, fighting down a grin as he decides, “We’ll start there.  Don’t look away.”

Convinced that Alibaba will behave, Kouen releases the boy and leans back, parting his robes to expose his already half-hard cock.  Alibaba’s eyes grow wide with the action, darting up to Kouen’s face, panic and outrage unified in his stare.  But what did Alibaba expect when his brother threw him here, half-bare and painted like a whore?

“I imagine you’re untouched,” Kouen says, and though he  _means_ untouched by a man, Alibaba’s reaction indicates that he’s simply untouched,  _full stop._  

Oh, this just gets better and better. 

“That’s a bit sad for your age, don’t you think?” Kouen asks, taking himself in hand. “Did Balbadd simply not care for heirs?”

“I’m illegitimate,” Alibaba responds, his words coming out slow, measured.  “It wasn’t a priority.”

“Mm, the Saluja  _were_ quite picky about legitimacy,” Kouen replies.  “No matter, I’ll train you myself.”

The young prince gulps audibly when Kouen begins to stroke himself, the motion lazy and indulgent.  Wide gold eyes flit around, unsure of where to linger but never straying from Kouen’s form.  Certainly the boy wears humiliation well; the flush of his cheeks, the nervous tremor of his lips, the flutter of gold lashes growing heavy with swelling tears, all of them come together so  _well_  on Alibaba’s face, it’s really quite obscene.

“We’ll use your mouth first,” Kouen decides, letting his mind spin with thoughts of Alibaba’s full lips wrapped around his cock, how it would feel to grab a fistful of thick gold hair and force the boy’s mouth down on him, to feel his throat spasm and hear him whimper and whine.  This particular thought is so poignant within him that his brief addition of, “Teach you not to gag,” is more a hollow mockery than anything. 

The shift of Alibaba’s thighs when he squirms in discomfort brings Kouen’s attention down, his eyes running over the boy’s bare chest and stomach, the crests of hips and legs obscured by the thinnest layer of fine crimson cotton.  He imagines pulling the boy onto his lap, keeping his legs pressed close together and fucking his thighs, imagines leaving a sticky mess in the boy’s lap and making him stay dirty. 

“Once you’re proficient there, I’ll take you to bed properly,” Kouen says.  It takes effort to sound unaffected, though what the point of that is when his arousal is right before Alibaba’s face, leaking precum over his fingers, he’s not too sure. But there  _is_ a point.

Alibaba’s jaw tightens, his resentment resurfacing for just the briefest of moments.   Kouen wonders how long that will last, if on the night he does take Alibaba those amber eyes will glare at him with loathing, or passively look away.

“Do you have a preference?” Kouen asks, his hand moving faster now, the desire to  _take_ warring with his decision to be patient, to slowly wear this one down.  “Face down, so you can bite your pillow to keep yourself quiet?  Or on your back so you can glare at me some more?”  Kouen can see both, can picture how Alibaba would look squirming down on his cock, can almost hear the muffled whimpers and bitten-back curses, and decides he’s held back enough for one night.

Alibaba’s mouth drops open, but if he intends to make a retort it gets lost on its way out of his throat.  Kouen takes the opportunity to grab the prince’s face with his free hand, forcing his thumb between Alibaba’s teeth to keep his mouth open.  Taken aback Alibaba tries to pull away, but Kouen’s grip keeps him in place, pulling his face close enough so that when Kouen finally gives in to his release, his cum hits the boy’s tongue, his cheeks, some spilling from the corners of his mouth to dribble down his chin.

“And to think I’m the first to see this.  It suits you,” Kouen murmurs, slipping his thumb out of Alibaba’s mouth, preferring to force his jaw to close before he tries to spit.  “Now, swallow what you’ve been given, don’t be ungrateful.”

Perhaps the most victorious moment of the night is watching Alibaba struggle to do as he’s been bid, gagging at the taste and thickness as he forces it down.  As a reward, Kouen takes his hand away from Alibaba’s mouth and instead pets his hair, the move leaving Alibaba blinking wide eyes at him in confusion. 

But the confusion clears up when Kouen’s fingers twist into golden strands, using Alibaba’s hair as a handle to yank him to his feet, before tossing him in toward the door. 

“You’re done for the night; one of my men will escort you to your chambers,” Kouen says, a smirk tugging at the corners of his mouth.  When Alibaba doesn’t move, staring up from the floor with a face full of indignation and rage, Kouen scoffs and asks, “What, did you think I’d keep you, give you free leave to slit my throat in the night?  Don’t be ridiculous.”

Alibaba’s face hardens into a neutral mask, though the pink tinge of his sullied cheeks makes the attempt less than successful.  He makes to wipe the mess off his face, but Kouen shakes his head ‘no’ and slowly, Alibaba lowers his hand back to his side.  When he first gets to his feet Alibaba’s shoulders hunch under the weight of his new shame, but with every step he takes toward the door his back gets a little straighter, his posture more upright so that when he finally walks out, he could almost pass for a prince again.

As the door closes a grin stretches across Kouen’s face, and his last thought is of the how Alibaba will look on the day his back bends to the point of breaking.


End file.
